He loved wisdom
by bublinka
Summary: The last time Solas and Wisdom meet.


AN: This happens when Inquisition starts to build at Haven.

The Fade was familiar and quiet around him, the joyful colors of distant memories shining on the horizon everywhere he looked, but too far away to disturb him. Solas smiled as he saw his best friend, a spirit of wisdom, approaching, a young and fair girl it looked like, with the eyes colored like the Veil.  
"Greetings, my friend," it addressed him in elven, the way they always spoke to each other, "you called for me?"  
"Yes, and I'm relieved to finally see you," Solas admitted, guiding the spirit to sit in the tall grass, as the Fade around them changed to the sunlit forest margin.  
"I find myself in a time of questioning, and I would like to ask your advice," he continued, his face showing some anxiety.  
Wisdom watched him calmly. "You know well that I do not offer advice, I am Wisdom, not Help."  
"I do know that," Solas replied, his gaze roaming elsewhere, deep in thought, "I'm troubled, though, and speaking with you always helps me to clear my mind."  
As his friend remained silent, the elf continued his story. "I've been traveling outside the Fade, and I met a person… And it turns out the person holds a key to my future, to the world's future, even yours. I feel that I must guide her to do what's right, but I fear she won't listen to me. My wisdom fails me, as never before was I succumbed to the will of a mortal."  
"You do not trust her?" Wisdom asked. It was eager to listen as ever.  
Solas winced; the matter of trust was too painful to him. "It's not that. She is too quick, too easily carried away, too gullible, too reckless…" He tried to explain his concern.  
Wisdom smiled knowingly. "What you are trying to tell me is that she's too young."  
Solas sighed. It was true. He nodded, his mind still confused at the fate's irony, how his life of thousands of ages was now in the hands of merely a child. In one of her hands, in fact.  
The spirit closed its eyes for a moment, remembering something.  
"Your story reminds me of another one. Let me show you it, maybe it'll give you the answers you seek." It spoke, and the Fade shivered, shattered, changing, offering them another memory it held.

An elf in the finest armor entered what seemed to be the throne room of a stone stronghold. He and the elder elf sitting on the throne, both wore the Elgar'nan vallaslin, and were easily distinguished as higher ranking military leaders.  
The one who entered, bowed deeply, though gracefully, and asked in a language that Solas immediately recognized as Dalish of the Dales.  
"You asked for me, my lord Taros?" The younger man asked politely.  
The man on the throne replied in a somewhat irritated tone. "Yes, Gathorn, and I expected you sooner."  
As Gathorn remained silent, lord Taros continued: "You are my best general and the only I could trust in times like this. My scouts captured two shemlen children, the ones who escaped the Red Crossing." He gestured to his steward, and the man brought said children forward, so Gathorn finally saw them. They were two boys, aged around ten years old, frightened, famished, clutching each other's hands, despite their bindings.  
"I need you to kill them and deliver their bodies where shemlen could find them. Or let them walk there and then kill them. It doesn't matter." Lord Taros demanded, the despise for humans distorting his old, tired face.  
Young elf was visibly appalled by the suggestion. But the expression written on the face of his lord was stern and determined. Gathorn knew that Taros' own son of twelve perished at the hands of Chantry forces.  
"As you wish, my lord. I will do it at once." The elf bowed once again, and left the throne room.  
Then the Fade shifted once more, and Solas saw Gathorn walking in the woods, the two boys in front of him. They walked slowly as the children were tired, tripping over the tree roots and falling, only to be jerked up by their escort. They reached the forest edge, and a village could be seen not very far away by the smoke coming up the chimneys.  
Gathorn took out his hunting knife and cut the ropes on the boys' wrists. They looked at him meekly, not even attempting to run. They knew better.  
"Go, you stupid kids, go, go!" He urged them in a heavily accented human language. "Run, and never return. Never become soldiers, or you'll end up like me." He added woefully.  
The boys took first unsure steps in the mentioned direction, casting glances at the elf, but after a few moments they began running, and soon Gathorn was left alone, as he sat down, and covered his face with a deep sigh.

Solas returned to Wisdom, feeling a bit disoriented as it always was after the encounter with memory in the Fade. What was the spirit wishing to show him? One had to be wise enough to understand Wisdom.  
"What I got from this memory," Solas began, sorrow coloring his voice, "is that if I can't change the decisions of a person who determine my fate I can still do what I believe to be right."  
"That is your answer." Wisdom replied. When they talked it was always like that. The spirit never voiced its opinion, if it had one. It only offered the wisdom of thousands of years and thousands of souls, the memories of which were reflected in the Fade.  
"I thank you, my friend, but I'm not quite assured yet." Solas insisted. "I may still do what I believe had to be done, but I'm powerless now. I can't offer her help or guidance if she won't let me. I remain weak, and I've lost the means of my might, how can I possibly act now?" He inquired desperately.  
Wisdom fixed its deep green eyes on its friend troubled face.  
"I can offer you another story." It suggested gently.

A man was sitting on his bed in a room of a wooden hunter's cabin. He was not old, nor young, stout and strong, but his face wore the signs of suffering. He had lost his right leg and was confined to his bed for the rest of his life.  
He was sitting and tried to write something on a sheet of paper lying on a barrel in front of him. He did not succeed much, letters coming out unrecognizable, crooked, ink stains covering them and making the text completely unreadable. His children, a girl of five and a boy of three, sat on the floor around the barrel quietly and watched his work with utter fascination.  
"Martha, give me another paper," he asked his wife loudly, and she came from the other room of the house.  
"Here," she did as he bid her, wiping her wet hands on her apron and offering him another list of yellowish paper from the table he could no longer reach. The sounds from outside got her attention and a small smile lit up her weary face.  
"It must be Garrett! I'll go greet him!" She exclaimed happily and hurried to the exit.  
Outside the cabin, that was located in a small village, Martha met her oldest son, a proud young man of fifteen years. He took his father's place as a hunter after that accident on a bear hunt. It was hard for him, but Garrett accepted his fate with dignity. The only thing that saddened him was his father's sorry state, his lack of will for life, his cynical attitude.  
Garrett had been gone for weeks in the forest, but he returned with a good amount of game. His mother helped him to untie it and he began to skin the rabbits first.  
"How is father?" He asked tensely. He always asked that, but wanted the answer no more.  
His mother smiled and that make him blink in surprise.  
"Much better," the woman answered proudly, "he is determined to help you to become an alchemist's apprentice."  
That was Garrett's dream since he remembered himself. He learned his father's craft, but he longed for the knowledge, for the study of the nature. There was an alchemist, who was also a healer, in the nearby city, but he wanted gold for teaching, and with his father disabled Garrett had neither money, nor the right to leave his family.  
"How?" The young man asked plainly. He tried to appear unimpressed, but his hands trembled in anticipation.  
"He was taught to write as a child, he always was a smart one, just like you." Martha eyed her son lovingly. "He will write down all the recipes of poultices and salves he'd learned from his friends in the Hunter Guild. Some of them are not even human in origin. A treasure like that will be more desirable than gold for your future master. Your father thinks he will pay _us_ to get them." The woman explained, joy tingling in her voice.  
Garrett abandoned his task, dropping his knife to the ground. Could it really be happening? He never knew his father was able to write, not to mention the vast knowledge of herbalism.  
He wiped his bloodied hands and rushed to the house.  
"Where are you going?" His mother called, not understanding his sudden rush.  
Her son stopped on the stairs and turned to her. A strange mix of emotions troubled his face - devotion, happiness, expectation, awe.  
"To greet my sire." He answered solemnly.

Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. His head was heavy, he was overwhelmed with the intensity of the memory offered by the spirit. It had always been much more vivid than the memories he recovered himself.  
Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at his friend, serene and beautiful as the Fade itself.  
"I believe I see the meaning." Solas stated thoughtfully. "When I think I have lost all my powers, I'm wrong, and I must seek other means of guiding, other means of convincing." He stretched his legs, stiff from the long sitting. "I was always bad at making people listen to me, at explaining my thoughts. I have been impulsive and arrogant, then I have been bitter and opinionated, but now I should be patient and wise. Yes, wise, my dear friend, as wise as you." He added with a kind laugh.  
"I'm glad that you find your peace. I'm more than happy to share what I know, what I remember." Wisdom answered, squeezing his hand lightly for a moment. "Do you have any memories to share with me?" It asked, and her eyes filled with interest and anticipation.  
Solas knew that his friend was delighted by knowledge, and he could not refuse it. The memory he chose to share that day was too a memory of a very wise person, a very wise judgment.

The vast hall of the delicately ornate castle was filled with people. With People, as they were Elvhen, tall and proud elves, all dressed in fine silks. But no one could match the woman sitting in judgement on her crystal throne. She was slender, but powerful, beautiful, but dangerous. Her long dark tresses were pinned up in a complex style, adorned with silver ribbons and pearls. Her face, serene and ruthless, was turned down to the two men before her, the prisoners she was going to judge.  
"Declare their crimes," she ordered in a perfect elven language. Her eyes, silvery at the first glance, but colored like steel if she chose to stare at you, rested on the accused only for a few moments.  
"These men brought to your judgement, my queen, are lords Elmael, two brothers: the elder one, Valvaros, and the younger one, Tamlin." The herald stated, as brothers bent their knee in turn of naming. They were both young nobles, and the irons on their hands looked out of place. The glares the brothers exchanged with each other could burn holes in the stone walls of the hall.  
"Their father, good lord Elmael, was long suffering from a grave illness. Desperate to end his pain or, more probably, going mad as part of the illness, lord Elmael made his will and had it declared before the whole household. 'That son of mine who shows me his mercy and release me from my suffering I will name my only heir' it said among other things. Lord Valvaros was enraged by those words, as a rightful heir by birth, and he left the room, stating it was madness to even listen to that. But lord Tamlin said nothing, as he took his bow and put an arrow in his father's throat when his brother left." The herald took a breath, and continued. The elven queen listened carefully, but no emotion appeared on her face.  
"Then, the civil war began in the Elmael lands. Lord Valvaros claimed his father's title and named his brother a kinslayer and a traitor. Lord Tamlin, on his part, insisted that according to his father's will he was the rightful heir and that his brother had to surrender. Both brothers had their loyal men, and this war was going for more than a year when it started to disturb the lords of neighboring lands. The mentioned lords besought your aid, my queen, and these two men were arrested and brought to your judgement." The herald folded his paper, and bowing deeply retreated back to his post.  
"I've heard enough." The queen stated in a clear voice. Everything went quiet. "Lord Valvaros, you have let your father die with your inaction, you did not stop your younger sibling who was under your charge by any law. Therefore, I sentence you to suffer through the trial of choice." The older elf bowed, but his face showed only fear, as he did not understand the meaning of her words.  
"Lord Tamlin," the queen continued, her voice still and impassionate, "you have overstepped your boundaries, deciding the fate of your lord. Therefore, I sentence you to suffer through the trial of subjugation." The look on the younger brother's face now matched the one of his sibling.  
The queen smiled at their lack of understanding, but that did not sooth any of them.  
"Lord Tamlin, I order you to name a penance. Lord Valvaros, I order you to decide which one of you will take it."  
And it all became clear. Cold sweat appeared on Tamlin's forehead. He was now completely at the will of his adversary. Should he name a light penance, his brother would take for himself, should he name a cruel one, and he would soon take it. His brother, though, did not look any happier. He hated choices, and to choose between his own life and his brother's? He had already lost his father, and he never wanted to look like a coward killing his rival with a headsman's help.  
The brothers exchanged a pair of confused glances. There was not so much rivalry left in them. The silence was growing heavy on their hearts.  
Then lord Tamlin lowered himself on one knee and spoke: "Here is my penance, my queen. 'Pardon me as well as my brother for our silliness, let me grant my brother a half of the land I rightfully inherit from my father, and set any punishment you see fit.'"  
Lord Valvaros listened as a hope brushed his heart. When his brother fell silent, he knelt beside him and said: "And that would be a penance for my brother and not me, as he is a rightful heir by our father's will."  
The queen smiled again, genuinely this time.  
"Free them. Hear me, my lords, if I see any of you here before me again, you will be stripped of your titles and executed like common thugs." She declared with a determination in her voice and stood up. The court bowed and the queen left the hall, and it seemed that the moonlike shine around her left with her.

"That was incredible, my friend," Wisdom bowed its head in gratification. "But who was that elven queen?"  
Solas smiled sadly. "A queen she was, but many considered her a goddess. She changed many names as time passed, but to me she will always remain a woman I once loved more than life."

AN: Thank you very much for reading. I've tried to investigate Solas more. I really tried not to be very subtle about the name of the elven queen, so I hope you all guessed who it was.


End file.
